


When It Rains

by foodandfandoms



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: AU, Angst, Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Panic Attack, Through the Years, Thunderstorms, oops I guess Agatha doesn't exist in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24652129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foodandfandoms/pseuds/foodandfandoms
Summary: Simon Snow isn't afraid of many things, but one particularly bad fear tends to keep him up at night. Luckily, his roommate is an unpredictably comforting presence.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 22
Kudos: 128





	1. First Year

Simon Snow could not sleep.

It had been a few weeks since moving into the dormitories at Watford, and up to then Simon hadn’t had to close his eyes for more than a few minutes before sleep overcame him, a combination of the cool breeze wafting across his face from the open window and the softness of the mattress beneath him, more luxurious than any bed he had been allowed to sleep in before. Not even the presence of the rude boy on the other side of the room was enough to keep him awake; the protection of the anathema allowed him to all but forget.

No, the problem wasn’t the room. It was outside. Rain pelted down on the roof of the building, loud and unforgiving. Lightning struck and thunder crashed. Simon had never really been scared of much- or rather, he had learned to overcome these fears quickly since there was never anyone around but himself to comfort and reassure him that no, there wasn’t a monster under his bed, ), the children’s home wasn’t haunted, there was no such thing as vampires (ha). But there was something about the flash of lightning and subsequent angry rumble of thunder that never failed to panic him. The room was getting too hot without the option of swinging the window open- he would almost have preferred a bit of dampness in his room to the way the air suffocated him. And it would all go away if he could just go to sleep.

He had told himself he would not cry tonight. Baz had already had the satisfaction of bringing him to frustrated tears once or twice in this room and elsewhere, and he would no doubt be delighted to find another point of weakness to jeer at. So instead, Simon crawled out of bed quietly and locked himself in the bathroom. There was an inexplicable comfort to be found in the scent of cedar and bergamot mixed with the school-issued soap that allowed Simon to catch his breath properly for the first time in what felt like hours. He scrubbed the fear off his face, letting the cool water run down his arms and drip from his chin. It worked until the next boom of thunder had his heart racing again.

Drying off and resigning himself to a restless night, Simon decided he would at least spend it in the comfort of his bed. As he opened the door however, he noticed a feeling of eyes on his back. Baz was awake, watching him with what Simon would have called curiosity if he didn’t know any better. As it was, he did know better than to think that Baz would think about anything in relation to him that wasn’t a plot as to how best to make him explode. He’d only known him for a few weeks, but their arguments were practically routine at this point. It didn’t annoy him as much as it normally would: most of his energy was focused on ignoring the outside world. So instead of starting a fight, he slumped down onto the bed, turned his back on Baz and curled up tightly in attempt to block out the world.

He is allowed 5 minutes of relative peace before the feeling of being watched overwhelmed him again. When he turned to look over his shoulder, sure enough there is Baz, staring unabashedly from his side of the room. Simon immediately tries to pull up some kind of wall so Baz can’t read his emotions straight off his face and isn’t sure if the slight narrowing of Baz’s gaze is because he succeeded or because he didn’t. “What?” He says, not really in the mood for an argument but annoyed by the strange attention.

Finally Baz looked away, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling, arms crossed behind his head. “You flinch every time the thunder comes,” he said nonchalantly. This only annoyed Simon more, frustrated at himself for being so obvious and at the other boy for being awake to see it.

“And?”

He shrugged, closing his eyes. “It’s childish.” A snide comment, a dismissal. Simon didn’t really know what to say to that. If anyone knew what it was like to have to grow up before their ready, it was Simon. Baz knew where Simon came from, always using his words as weapons in the combination he knew to be most effective in making Simon feel like shit. The kind that would almost never fail to get a rise out of him. But for once in his life, he decided it wasn’t worth the energy it would take to fight back and returned to his attempts at ignoring the world. He would have plenty of time to throw a punch and stutter over his words tomorrow when Baz inevitably used it against him in the morning. The thought of the normalcy calms him more than it possibly should. That combined with a lucky lull in the intensity of the storm allowed Simon to fall into a fragile sleep.

\--

Days passed, and to Simon’s surprise, Baz didn’t say a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I will most likely be updating every few days.  
> This will most likely be around 5 chapters but I'm not willing to put a solid number on it yet.  
> Find me on Tumblr @foodandfandoms


	2. Third Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you're good. Ironically I got caught in a thunderstorm on the way home from work today and it really made me want to get home to write more of this. It's almost done! I'm now 99% sure it'll be 6 chapters long.  
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter!!

Simon had been lucky, he supposed. Of all the fears to have, storms weren’t that bad. They were few and far between, and from the safety of this room at the top of Mummer’s house, became less of a genuine threat and more a feeling of vague unrest. Of the handful of storms that had occurred since enrolling at Watford, only a few had happened during the early part of the night- the worst part of the day. Every time it did though, Baz would watch. Sometimes it was blatantly obvious, sometimes out of the corner of his eye, pretending to be doing something else. Baz hadn’t really been bothering Simon too much that week, just part of the ebb and flow that was their relationship. He had probably decided he was above petty fights like whether the window was open or not for the time being. Simon was sure they would be back soon enough

Simon was learning to ignore the stares, since he tended to be preoccupied with other irrational thoughts of situations he had to reassure himself repeatedly wouldn’t happen. His current preferred method of sanity was to throw his blankets up over his head and list his favourite things, just like in ‘The Sound of Music’. He wondered idly if any of that musical would make for a good spell- though he supposed it didn’t matter with his shoddy wand work. 

He’d been doing listing types of scones and their toppings for a few minutes when he heard muffled movement in the room- shuffled footsteps followed by the click of the light switch. Confused, he poked his head out from his covers to watch as Baz moved around the room, first bringing out a music stand, and then unclasping his violin case and lifting it out carefully. Simon checked the clock. 01:36. He turned back in time to watch Baz catching stray hairs up into a small ponytail at the back of his head, presumably to keep it out of his eyes. He set the stand so he could see the music from a position cross-legged on his bed, then started to softly play.

“What are you doing?” Simon asked. 

“Practising,” Baz replied. His voice was cool, but something in his face suggested different, and his presence was for once oddly calming in place of aggravating. A sweet melody filled the room, speaking of serenity. Simon had never been very invested in music, and definitely not classical like Baz was currently playing, but he was entranced by the way Baz’s long fingers moved across the strings and the focus visible on his face. He couldn’t help but wonder why Baz would ever act the way he did at literally any other point in the day if he had this in him. That didn’t really matter at that moment though; all that mattered was the two of them and the warm notes flowing through the air, blocking out the outside world.

Simon could feel his body relaxing. The grip on his blankets released and his eyelids dropped. It became harder and harder to keeps his eyes open, but he fought for a little while longer to appreciate this version of Baz he had never seen before, content to watch and listen. Sleep was in his reach now, calling much closer than it had been mere minutes before. He finally gave in to the pull of his eyelids and let the darkness pull him under. He fell asleep to Baz’s quiet breathing and equally quiet song, the storm all but forgotten.

\--

They continued this way for each storm.

It confused Simon just as Baz’s silence about his fear had the first time: the way Baz could seemingly switch his compassion on and off as quickly as the flashes of lightning that scared him so. They acted no different outside of the room or even in their room without a storm to keep them company, continuing to fight at the drop of a hat, Baz throwing words that would eventually lead to Simon throwing fists, leaving whatever room they were in smelling of smoke from when Simon inevitably began to lose control. But there were moments while the rain beat down against the ceilings where it almost felt like Baz was comforting Simon. And Simon almost felt grateful. Almost.

So the routine went like this: the lightning danced across the room followed by the crack of thunder, Simon moped and made stupid lists for a few minutes, and Baz pulled out his violin, lulling his roommate into a state he was calm enough to sleep in despite the ongoing storm. Baz became a security blanket in Simon’s weakest moments, helping him in a way that no other had ever been able to. Baz always acted as if he was acting in his own interests, but both he and Simon knew that was a lie.

There wasn’t an exact moment when Simon began trusting Baz. It was a slow and painful process filled with suspicion and doubt, but there came a day when Simon no longer worried about the next time it would thunder. It was seeming less and less like Baz actually cared about ruining his life and more that he was doing it out of some kind of obligation, which was something Simon could understand; most of what Simon did he did because it was expected. 

Whatever the reason was, he was glad for the relief, even if it was just until he fell asleep on those nights and not a moment more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know your thoughts in the comments or come and bug me @foodandfandoms on Tumblr.  
> Next chapter in a few days, stay safe<3


	3. Fifth Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I just wanted to add that though I'm pretty sure Simon canonically follows Baz around during fifth year, for the sake of this fic I've moved it to sixth. Hope this doesn't irk anyone too much!

The fragile trust that had developed between them was broken the moment Baz made a genuine attempt on Simon’s life. They both knew it. Simon wasn’t even convinced that Baz cared; in fact, he seemed to hate him more by the day. He couldn’t tell what had changed, but he was fairly sure Baz was just as much a puppet as Simon in the world of Mages. Not that it made any difference at this point. They were no longer children, so Simon wouldn’t expect the comfort he had begun to rely on during the dismal nights dark clouds rolled over the sky.

Simon knew the Mage had a plan for him. The Humdrum had been after him for years, leaving dead spots and ruin in its wake. The Old Families have been campaigning for the fall of the Mage ever since he had seized power. It wasn’t like he had ever expected them to sit all together holding hands and singing Kumbaya. His rivalry with Baz was just a small cog in a large machine, set up before Simon had even taken a step into Watford. Fighting was inevitable. It was just- somewhere in his heart, he had hoped it would come with reluctance and apologies.

Not that he would ever admit that to anyone, let alone himself.

Baz had been spending much less time in their shared room recently. This was both a blessing and a curse to Simon: while it gave him some peace to gather his thoughts without Baz’s inflammatory presence, it was also disconcerting to know that Baz was off in an unknown place doing unknown things. It made Simon paranoid. He was sure Penelope was going to explode if any more of their conversations were dominated by Simon complaining about whatever Baz might be doing in his free time.

His roommate sniped at him during lessons, sent cool looks over to his table at lunch, whispered to Dev and Niall when he knew Simon was watching. But the bed across from Simon’s was almost always empty until well after Simon was dead to the world, and Baz rose long after Simon had flung open the curtains in their room and headed down for breakfast.

The first storm after this new normal had settled over their bones took Simon off-guard. Baz was off doing whatever he did when he wasn’t annoying his roommate, and the deathly quiet from inside the room just made the beating of rain on the ceiling that much louder. He hadn’t realised how reliant he had become on the sound of a bow against string until that moment. He also knew even if Baz did start playing, he probably wouldn’t accept it anyway. Instead of thinking about what might have been, he turned his attention to counting. The monotony was calming and mostly worked in between roars of thunder, but couldn’t completely erase the uneasiness that always arrived with a storm. Sleep was really the only option. It came much easier than it once did, but still took much longer than any other day. That night, Simon dreamed of soft melodies played by long fingers, and conflicting harsh words accompanied by a sneer of disgust.

\--

The catacombs had become a place of solace as much as sadness to Baz in recent weeks. Pros included the plentiful rats, his mother’s tomb, and an absence of Simon Snow. Cons included the plentiful rats, his mother’s tomb, and an absence of Simon Snow. Needless to say, Baz was conflicted at best.

Fiona had constantly been nagging him for information on Snow’s plans and how Baz was going to off him since the incident the other week where Baz had genuinely endangered Snow’s life. It was the first time, but he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. As much as he genuinely hated the boy- and believe him, he did hate Snow- he felt he had enough going on without having to worry about how he was going to become a murderer. So he had been effectively avoiding Snow, both as a coping mechanism to block out whatever complicated emotions the boy had started to evoke in him, and to try to convince Fiona he wasn’t going to be a reliable source of information.

Despite the location of the Catacombs, it was not as cut off from the outside world as one would expect, and Baz heard a rumble of thunder- distant to the human ear but clean and distinctive to Baz’s keen senses. There was a certain electrical quality to the air which made the atmosphere feel more charged than before, closer to release with every moment. Baz’s thoughts drifted to the boy at the top of the turret in Mummer’s house; he could almost feel the flinches that would surely be racking his roommate’s body. He wondered if he would notice Baz’s absence, whether his presence had meant anything at all. Baz wasn’t sure why he had pulled out his violin the first time. It had originally fascinated him how the boy who had the confidence to take on a fully-grown dragon could be reduced to short breaths and sweaty palms by something so inconsequential. Usually seeing Snow distressed or angered (especially by Baz’s own hand) was satisfying and entertaining, though more so when he was 13 than now. But something about his helplessness had compelled him into action- a detail he wasn’t willing to analyse at this moment or any other.

And even with that hatred he felt towards the boy, some part of him wanted nothing more than to go back to their room, pull out his violin and play until those blue eyes fluttered shut. Even if he could bring himself to move he knew he couldn’t comfort Snow now, in the same way that they would no longer fight over petty details like one’s (Snow’s) sock on the other’s (Baz’s) side of the room. Life was too serious now, both on the scale of their personal battles and with the looming wars. So instead of doing what he had been doing during storms for the past 2 years, Baz continued to drain any rodent he caught in attempt to quench the thirst that had only really developed in the past few months, hating himself for what he was and what he could never be.

By the time he was ready to face going back to the dorms, the rain had settled down enough that he wasn’t drenched immediately upon stepping outside. Forever cold, Baz counted this as a win. Once back, he glanced around the room, moving quietly. Snow was tucked up at the corner of his bed, clearly asleep but with a slight crinkle to his brow. The logical side of Baz knew that it didn’t matter how fitfully Snow was sleeping. He should ignore the boy completely and focus on getting some much-needed rest himself. The god-forsaken hormonal teenager side of his brain reflected smugly on the fact that he did not look as peaceful as he had when Baz had played him to sleep whilst simultaneously resenting that Snow might have that much control over his thought processes, and that he hadn’t been able to provide him with that peace tonight. Conflicted.

Still, the fact that Snow had managed to sleep without him eased some worry that he had refused out of spite to give voice to before it dissipated. Snow didn’t really need Baz, so Baz didn’t have to feel guilty for leaving him to fend for himself. It also meant he could keep repressing whatever emotions that surfaced (other than hate, of course) when he thought about the soft blue of Snow’s eyes, the flop of bronze curls that fell into his eyes.

Enough of that. After a quick shower Baz climbed into bed, content to ignore in private and taunt in public. After all, wasn’t that all he was good for?

Baz fell asleep that night, much like every other, to thoughts of blood and Simon Snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! New chapter on Friday.
> 
> Tumblr: @foodandfandoms


	4. Sixth Year (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry this is a day late but it was my birthday yesterday and it ended up slipping my mind. Hope you enjoy!

Baz was up to something. Simon just knew it, sure as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. The sneaking around wasn’t new; he had often left their room in the dead of night and not returned until the small hours over the past couple of years, but that had always been accompanied with an undercurrent of distress surrounding Baz like an aura. Despite Simon’s tendency to be emotionally charged, comforting wasn’t his strong point and he could tell that what Baz really needed was to be left the hell alone.

Not that he wanted to do any comforting, of course.

It was different now though. Baz had an air of confidence and focus these days that put Simon on edge. It was like when he was a high-and-mighty 11-year-old, except with actual power and a motive to make sure Simon didn’t make it to the end of his education. On top of that, Simon was now 99% sure that Baz was a vampire. He had told Penny of course, and she had scoffed at him, an argument ready for every piece of evidence he produced. Their conversations tended to go something like:

“He always frowns when I open the curtains in the morning!”

“You probably woke him up, you dunce, you’d be annoyed too!”

“Okay, then when was the last time you saw him eat?”

“That can’t be your defence when you were complaining just last week about the crisp crumbs on the floor in your room, Simon. Can you please focus on the homework now? You aren’t putting the emphasis on this word in the right place.”

Simon had taken to wearing a cross after that conversation.

Everything in the world seemed to be working against Simon’s peace of mind recently, and that is what lead to him following Baz out during the nights. He had started off following him during the day, but there was nothing out of sorts there: lessons, the library, football practice. But every night Simon tailed Baz down into the catacombs as far as he dared to, with the added risk of being caught or getting lost. The fact that Baz could make his way around the underground labyrinths without even so much as a lit match was enough to reaffirm Simon’s suspicions. There wasn’t much down there, just the tombs of children and Headmasters who had died in the school and the dead carcasses of rats that seemed to grow with each visit.

While the thought of rat blood tied Simon’s stomach in knots, it wasn’t nearly as bad as Baz’s alternative food source. It maybe even restored some of Simon’s faith that Baz wasn’t pure evil. Not that it stopped him from following the boy down into the darkness for weeks. With Baz’s pattern of apparently harmless actions, Simon had narrowed it down to 2 options: either Baz didn’t know he was being followed, and genuinely hadn’t been doing anything wrong, or more likely, Baz knew Simon was there, and wouldn’t do anything suspicious until he was sure he wasn’t anymore.

So Simon followed.

It had all been going to plan (if you could call stalking a plan) until a damp November night brought the thunder. Simon had heard movements coming from the corridor Baz had disappeared down, noises that meant he was preparing to leave the Catacombs- Simon’s nightly reminder it was time to go back to bed and feign sleep for the couple of minutes before Baz would also return; always quiet, always controlled. Simon moved as quietly as he could back down the passages, up the stairs and out of the chapel into the open air. He hadn’t made it more than a few steps when the world flashed momentarily white, and thunder crashed not too far away. Simon’s body froze before his brain could catch up. One, two, three droplets of rain bounced against his hair before they started falling too thick and fast to count. Droplets ran paths down his back like icy fingers. It was enough to for his hands to start shaking and his heart to jump straight into his mouth.

One moment passed, and the next, and it was all Simon could do to stand paralysed in the rain, breathing becoming harsh and strained. He knew he desperately needed to get back to the solace of his room, his soft mattress, the smell of cedar and bergamot wafting out from the bathroom. 

If only his legs would move.

“Simon!”

\--

Baz knew it was going to be a long night the moment he heard the crash from above. He had been ready to go back to the dorms, satisfied that his mother’s flowers were again blooming and with a full stomach of sloshing blood. He always let Snow get a head start on him going back (of course he knew he was being followed, and if Snow hadn’t realised, he was more of an idiot than Baz had previously thought possible), but the noise made him moved with renewed urgency up and out of the Catacombs.

Sure enough, there was Snow, allowing the rain to soak him. He couldn’t have been outside for more than a minute but his clothes already stuck to his skin. In any other situation, it would have been enough to make him into a mess over the beauty, if only internally- the day he showed any such emotion outwardly was the same day he followed his mother’s wishes and ended his sorry existence. (Honestly, he prided himself on being a perfect balance of tragic and dramatic, but the moment he realised he was in love with the idiot was the day he both of those qualities came back to bite like a massive cosmic joke.) Right now though, the priority had to be getting Snow inside before what could possibly be his worst fears came true.

“Simon!” Baz shouted over the pounding rain. He watched as Snow’s fingers balled up into fists like he was preparing for a fight, shoulders heaving with stress. But when Snow turned his face all Baz could see was the same scared boy he had first seen all those years ago with the first bolt of lightning that had struck a few weeks into their first term at Watford. And just like back then a protectiveness washed over Baz. It had something to do with his eyes, just slightly too wide with a cloudy stare, not daring and brash like normal. That look was probably the reason he had ever attempted to comfort Snow in the first place.

It was that look that pushed him forward, towards his enemy. It had been a while since he had seen him like this; in part because he had been actively avoiding spending any time with Snow awake in their room, and in part because he hadn’t been nearly as bad with Baz’s violin to block out the rain. It was a testament to how different Snow was acting that he didn’t flinch as Baz strode closer, or when Baz’s hands enclosed around Snow’s wrists, gripping firmly but not painfully. He just continued to breath to quickly, like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the world. When a gentle tug at his wrists resulted in no effort to comply with movement, Baz said, “Snow, I know you’re scared right now, but this is the worst place we could be, and Mummer’s House is barely a minute away. Can you walk with me?” He was aiming for a comforting tone, and was surprised to find his voice much more level than would reflect the situation.

His eyes cleared the slightest amount. “Our…our room?” He replied shakily. They were both soaked through by this point and Snow’s wet hair was plastered to his forehead.

“Yes, Snow. Just over there.” He pointed towards Mummer’s house with one set of interlocked arms. Snow swallowed, seemingly preparing himself internally, before nodding. Baz let go of his wrists but Snow’s left had immediately latched onto Baz’s right with a painful grip. “Don’t! Don’t let go,” Simon pleaded, making Baz’s chest ache. To show he understood, Baz laced their fingers together before leading Snow towards Mummer’s House with a brisk pace.

To Snow’s credit, he managed to make it into Mummer’s House and all the way up the never-ending stairs all the way up to their room and wait until the door was closed to really fall apart. He lowered himself to the floor by the side of his bed, shaking violently and still holding Baz’s hand in a vice grip, tugging Baz down into a crouch beside his roommate. Sense told him that the first priority should be to get themselves dry- they were dripping onto the carpet after all- but instinct told him that leaving Snow, even to go into the bathroom just a few feet away, would do much more harm than good. So instead, he sat in front of Snow and murmured inane comforting sentiments, and after some hesitation, with his free hand began to card through Snow’s soft bronze hair, brushing it out of his eyes and off his forehead. To his relief, Snow welcomed the contact, relaxing minutely into the touch.

At some point Snow had begun to cry, though Baz suspected this was part of some primal reaction rather than anything under his control. Only once inside could Baz start to distinguish between tears and rain. He wiped the tears off the other boy’s cheeks as his breathing began to slow. Snow closed his eyes, tired from the overexertion and coming back to reality enough to begin making a conscious effort to calm down. Once his grip on Baz’s hand had relaxed enough that Baz deemed it safe to pull away, he decided the next step was to stop either of them from getting hypothermia.

As he pulled away, Simon’s grip tightened again and he opened his eyes. They were no longer overwhelming fearful, but the remnants were there. “I’m just going to get a couple of towels,” Baz said softly. “I’ll be back in a second, okay?” Simon stared into his eyes and seemed to see something he could once again trust, because he let go of Baz’s hand, put his elbows on his knees and rested his head on his forearms. The only time Baz ever saw him this quiet was when he was asleep. He almost regretted having to move. Still, he rose to his feet, leaving Snow momentarily with nothing but the sound of rain beating on the roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This night to be continued in the next chapter! Should be out on Tuesday unless my brain does another oopsie, lol  
> Tumblr: @foodandfandoms


	5. Sixth Year (Part 2)

In all honesty, Simon didn’t remember much of what happened after Baz had grabbed his wrists, just snapshots; a familiar smell, long fingers running through his hair, soft words whispered in his ear. He had never experienced anything like whatever that had been, and frankly, he wouldn’t be upset if it never happened again. His head felt heavy against his arms and he barely had the energy to flinch when lightning struck next. He didn’t know why Baz had helped him- if he’d been struck by lightning and died then his job would have been done- but for once he couldn’t feel the walls that Baz usually had around himself, and Simon didn’t think he could hide anything even if he wanted to. So he just looked up as Baz walked back into the room and slid back to the floor in front of him, gently rubbing a warm towel over his wet hair.

It was like the Baz from before, when he used to play the violin for Simon, but a thousand times better. He could feel the remnants of the trust that had developed between them rebuilding itself. Maybe it was because of how he acted before, how he still acted now, or maybe it was deeper- Baz hadn’t done anything truly suspicious that hadn’t clearly been planned by the Old Families in a while now, and the emotions Simon saw in his eyes looked more genuine than anything he had seen in them since before Baz had actually tried to kill him.

Simon wasn’t saying there hadn’t been points where he hated Baz and everything he stood for- especially what he stood for- but he didn’t think he’d ever really let go of the part of Baz that came out on stormy nights. And here he was, drying Simon’s hair and placing a perfect finger under his chin when Simon’s eyes dropped to the floor and saying “you’re okay, everything is okay” with just the right amount of fire behind it to make Simon believe it.

Unfortunately, they couldn’t sit on the floor like that forever. Simon always ran hot, but he could tell Baz was freezing. Once they had both changed out of their drenched clothes a slightly uncomfortable silence settled in the room, minus the progressively more subdued sound of rain above them. He wasn’t ready to sleep yet. If he did, he knew reality would make its way into his dreams. Instead, he asked the only thing he could think of to avoid it.

“Baz?” His roommate looked up curiously. It was the first time he had spoken since outside. Slightly embarrassed by the nights occurrences and the look on Baz’s face that he couldn’t quite place, his gaze drops back down to the floor. “Could you…play for me?” Despite this being the calmer side of Baz, Simon could practically feel the snarky retort ready on his lips. The words didn’t come though- Simon must have looked like such a sorry sight that he simply went over to where the violin case sat and pulled it out, sitting beside his bed. Any boundaries which had previously been set for their closeness had been shattered completely tonight, and Simon couldn’t feel anything other than grateful for that. He sat right next to him, shoulder to shoulder. Once he stopped fidgeting, Baz began to play.

It was a familiar tune. Simon had gotten used to hearing all sorts of songs played in the night, even the least lullaby-like melodies altered for softness and serenity, but this one was his favourite. It was the one that Baz had played the first night he had decided Simon was worth playing for. This piece had never failed to drag Simon out of the worst of moods. Even tonight it had his eyelids drooping almost immediately, and his head fell tentatively onto Baz’s shoulder. For a second he felt Baz tense and there’s a blip in the music, but before he could regret the action he relaxed again. The rain had stopped completely, as if the sky wanted to listen to Baz’s music too.

The last thing Simon could remember from that night was the final notes of a song, followed by strong, careful arms encircling him and placing him back into his own bed.

\--

Something changed after that night, even if it was through intent rather than action. Both boys played their part when they had to, but Simon could now tell when Baz was serious and when it was just for show. Years of violence and mistrust wouldn’t disappear overnight. They still bickered more than was healthy, their political views vastly different- or, Simon loved and trusted the Mage, and Baz was routing for his demise (peacefully and legally). But insults sometimes lost their bite, punches pulled more often than could be considered coincidence.

The most noticeable change to Simon was the atmosphere in their room when they were both in it. Before, it had been uncomfortable at best and murderous at worst. Now, often the vibes of irritation had mellowed out through familiarity and some level of understanding. Simon couldn’t really see what had changed for Baz; maybe he was just tired of the constant animosity. Simon himself had never enjoyed fighting. Even if he never knew, he wasn’t entirely sure that it mattered- all that mattered was the walls around Baz’s tightly controlled emotions were slowly beginning to crumble.

Without feeling like he constantly had to be worried about whatever Baz was plotting next, Simon felt the weight on his shoulders lifted just slightly. He may have to worry about the Humdrum, and whatever the reason was that the Mage had been ignoring him for weeks, and when the Old Families would finally make a crucial move against the Mage, but at least when Baz acted, he knew it would be with reluctance.

He then reflected on how screwed up it was that it was a silver lining that someone was only going to reluctantly try to kill him.

But if Simon ever had any doubts, they were quickly diminished by the next storm, sitting on his bed wrapped up in a blanket with a dark-haired boy by his side. A bow held with long fingers, sliding against string, and later an arm around his waist, a face pressed into his hair. 

If Simon had to put a label on it, it was getting closer and closer to friendship every day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Only one chapter to go...  
> Tumblr: @foodandfandoms


	6. Seventh Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Clearly Fridays were a bad day for me to try to update, because I've missed 2/2 now. Last chapter though! I hope you enjoy reading it.

The thing about a tentative friendship with the person who you’re supposed to be mortal enemies with is that the situation has the potential to flip at any moment. Though he’d watched Baz enough that he didn’t think many people could read his emotions better than Simon, that said nothing about his thoughts. Baz’s mood tended to swing regularly- it wasn’t easy to notice since he so often hid behind a mask, but there were subtle changes in the tone of his voice between playful mocking and short, snapped retorts.

This led Simon to a problem. Dealing with Baz was nothing new: he got mad, he started a fight with Simon, Simon got mad. End result: everyone is mad. And that used to be fine, when all Simon had to worry about was his own anger and keeping his magic inside his body. Recently however, he found he wanted to help Baz through his stormy moods the way Baz had soothed him through stormy nights. Every time Baz inevitably tried to wind Simon up, he lasted a little bit longer before giving into frustration, speaking only in broken sentences and flying fists.

Baz seemed to rise to the challenge, almost like he wanted Simon to fight back. No matter how much Simon tried to play nice, it never did any good. The other boy just got meaner. Maybe it would have been easier to bare if he hadn’t seen those troubled grey eyes clear and focused, if he hadn’t seen those lips curled ever-so-slightly upwards in contentment. As it was, every line that carved its way deep into Baz’s face to disrupt his peace felt as if it was also carving into somewhere around Simon’s chest. He took that thought and shoved it into the overflowing compartment in his brain of things to not think about.

Whatever the reason for Baz’s increasingly short temper, they were reaching a breaking point. Nothing Simon did seem to make him feel better; he shrugged Simon’s hand off his shoulders, ignored the offerings of salt and vinegar crisps Simon left on his desk, stopped rising to the easy bait when Simon tried to give him something to cause a scene over. Being upset is something he can understand. What he can’t understand is turning away help from someone who is genuinely offering it. It made their relationship feel one-side, like Baz didn’t look at Simon and see someone he could trust to confide in. The hurt that produced was surprisingly strong…something else to not think about. Lately, the proportion of off-limits thoughts was feeling alarmingly Baz-heavy.

It came one night in mid-February when Baz came into their room at full force, slamming the door open then shut and startling Simon awake. Immediately reaching for the nearest object he could use to hit a trespasser with, he relaxed back into his bed when he realised it was just Baz. With his entrance also came confusion- Baz had never woken Simon up before. He was usually more silent than could be considered normal. Resigning himself to being awake for the foreseeable future, Simon reached around and turned his bedside lamp on, before saying “Baz, what’s wrong?”

Expectedly, there’s no reply, just continued thumping around the room. Draws were opened and closed. He sat up and wiped sleep out of his eyes. “What are you doing? I can help,” he murmured, aiming for calming but clearly having the opposite effect. Simon’s words did nothing to ease the tension in Baz’s shoulders. His fingers clenched into fists around the sides of the draw he’d been rifling through before deliberately straightening them out.

“Leave me alone, Snow.” Simon could tell he was fighting hard for the amount of control he forced into what he said. His voice was low and deadly calm.

Caught off-guard by his own agitation at Baz, he retorted, “well I- maybe I would have if someone hadn’t slammed the door at-” he checked the clock on the wall- “two thirty in the morning loud enough to wake the dead, I would have!”

“You want to talk about manners, do you? Because I haven’t witnessed any from you in all the years I’ve known you. Ever heard of swallowing food, Snow? It doesn’t all have to be spit out when your mouth is full. I suppose they don’t teach you manners at the children’s home, that’s for the parents. Though I’m not sure if that would have helped in your case- anyone who could produce someone like you was hopeless to begin with!” His chest was heaving with exertion, eyes hard and chaotic, teeth gritter. Dark circles Simon hadn’t noticed before were now prominent beneath his eyes.

With that rant, Simon found his own kind of deadly calm. He was up on his feet and standing in front of Baz, though he couldn’t remember moving. For once during one of their arguments, he did not stutter. “You are going to tell me what’s wrong, and you are going to tell me now.”

Baz was becoming more hysterical by the second. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong is that my mother is dead, and she would want me to be dead if she was still there. What’s wrong is everyone expects me to be a murderer at seventeen. Some people are disappointed I’ve not done it yet!” He brings his hands up to rake through his hair, pulling it so the gel leaves it sticking up at odd angles. Simon reaches up to grab his forearms, and keeps them in his grasp when Baz makes no move to pull away. “But that’s not the funny bit. That would be the part where the person I’m supposed to kill is the one person I want to the least! Isn’t it hilarious?” His shoulders shake.

Simon stands for a second, shocked. He hadn’t known that this had been weighing so heavily on Baz, but now the words had been spoken he couldn’t believe he hadn’t worked it out sooner. Of course the person who was supposed to be his enemy but was really his friend had trouble with the fact he was meant to kill that friend. But that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was the pain ever-present in Baz’s eyes, so prominent now, and the fact that Simon wanted it to stop. He had never been good at watching the people he loved in pain. And that’s what it was, all those thoughts he had pushed out of his mind: he loved Baz. He needed to say or do something that would make it better.

And well, Simon had never really been good at speaking with words.

So instead, he spoke in the only way he knew how: with actions. He spoke with fists bunching up in the front of Baz’s shirt, and lips colliding with lips. His eyes slid shut as he tried to push everything he wanted to tell Baz into the kiss. Baz slackened in surprise initially, but after a second or two desperate hands reached around Simon’s back and bunched in the back of his shirt. He brought a hand up to Baz’s cheek and ran his fingers across the high cheekbone gently before pulling back from the kiss and leaving kisses on both of Baz’s cheeks. 

All of the fight and rage had left Baz’s face, leaving tiredness and a deep sorrow. Simon’s arms moved around Baz’s shoulders to pull him into a tight hug. Baz’s head dropped onto Simon’s shoulder. He took deep shuddering breaths there, trying to calm himself. Simon stood holding him, rubbing the back of his neck at his hairline soothingly and whispering, “you’re okay, you’re okay,” every now and then. 

As Baz calmed down, his grip on Simon’s shirt loosened but he didn’t move his arms, didn’t raise his head. He said nothing, so Simon let the silence sit comfortably around them. It felt nice to be on this side for once, the rock. Countless times Baz had sat with Simon during the night, pretending to act with reluctance where both knew there was none. Never complaining about anything real, denying that anything troubled him at all. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, untouchable. Bottling up emotions was something they were both expects in, it seemed.

The effort it took Baz to pull away was almost palpable, but he did, eyes cast down to the floor. It looked as if he were about to shut down again, the few minutes of relief in Simon’s arms left behind as a moment of weakness. Simon wouldn’t allow it. He saw no weakness in letting someone share in a burden. Vulnerability, yes- but also the strength of knowing you are able to share, to trust. Simon wouldn’t betray that trust, not ever. So he took Baz by the shoulders and made sure Baz was looking directly in his eyes when he said, “it’s you and me, yeah, Baz? From now on. No more fighting.”

For once, Simon was relieved to see a characteristic sneer, albeit a small one, grow on Baz’s face the one that said he was teasing. “Decide that all on your own, did you?” He still seemed close to breaking, but Simon was sure that Baz mocking him grounded Baz as much as it did Simon.

In response Simon climbed up onto Baz’s bed and made himself at home, legs crossed and openly allowing himself to appreciate how perfect it was for him to have the other boy as his roommate. It wasn’t that Baz was perfect- he could be cruel, he was always stubborn, and he hated having the window open no matter how hot and stuffy it got- but rather that Baz was one of the only people that could understand what he was going through, because take away upbringing and motive, and their experiences were surprisingly similar. He should have known the crucible was right to draw them together; even when Simon thought Baz would never do anything but hate him, Simon still felt an inexplicable urge to be around him, to know him.

Simon patted the space next to him on the bed. Baz raised an eyebrow and didn’t show any signs of movement, so Simon leaned forward, grabbing his wrist and pulling him down onto the bed. He flopped onto the bed dramatically. With a sigh, Baz said, “what is it exactly that you want, Simon?” While he spoke, Simon started rubbing circles into the wrist he held with his thumb.

“It’s simple. I like you, you like me-”

“Funny, I don’t remember saying anything like that.”

“you didn’t have to. I know you, Baz. You could have left me to struggle on my own so many times, you could have left me out in the rain that night. But you didn’t. You grounded me. And you haven’t denied it yet.” With this, Baz slumped down into Simon’s side, any fight he had tried to regain leaving him again. His forehead rested on Simon’s shoulder.

“The thing is, Snow, it’s not that simple. You know it isn’t. I’m still destined to kill you-”

“Fuck destiny.”

“- and the Humdrum is still be after you. Don’t even get me started on the bloody Mage. We can’t just solve this by deciding not to fight. There’s too much riding on us.” It wasn’t that Simon wasn’t listening- he was- but mostly all he heard was the continuing absence of a rejection. 

He took the hand that wasn’t still holding Baz’s wrist and raised it to the back of Baz’s neck, playing with the hair there. “Look, I know everything isn’t just going to disappear overnight, but don’t you think it would be easier if we worked it out together? We’ll be our own side!” It seemed like Baz was going to interrupt at that point, so Simon powered through. “Just think about it. Not now though- I think you’ve done enough thinking for the day. Let’s just go to sleep now, yeah? We’ll work something out in the morning.” Towards the end his voice became only a whisper. “Lie down with me, Baz. Everything else can wait.”

With that, Baz was the one pulling Simon with him down onto the pillows. Simon pulled up the blankets over their bodies, lying facing the other boy. Tentatively, he lay his arm over Baz’s waste, and Baz responded by pushing his face into Simon’s chest. As Simon dropped a kissed on the top of Baz’s head, taking in the all-too-familiar scent of him, he closed his eyes and said quietly, “goodnight, Baz.”

It was silent for a few moments. Then, “Simon?” He opened his eyes again and looked down at his roommate. Blue eyes found grey. Baz surged forward then, catching Simon’s mouth to his own once again. It was short but sweet, a hand raising to brush his cheek. The feeling poured warmth into his stomach. He hoped it was a feeling he would be allowed to get used to.

Baz pulled away and said, “there might be a small possibility that I don’t hate you.” Simon grinned. “But-”

“Not tonight, Baz. That’s all that matters right now. Leave it for tomorrow.”

He seemed to accept that, returning to his place at Simon’s chest. He wondered if he could hear his heart; it was beating hard enough that it was possible. His hands found Baz’s hair once again and he stroked his fingers through it until the other boy’s breathing evened out, before finally allowing himself to fall asleep. This was much better than fighting, than sleeping alone. And Simon knew would find a way to make sure this first time wouldn’t also be the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who got this far! I really enjoyed writing this...The last chapter took me quite a while to get down though so I hope it doesn't read as disjointed.  
> If there is anything you'd like to see me write in the future, just let me know! I can't promise anything but if inspiration strikes I'll try to write it.  
> I would say see you soon, but I get writer's block quite easily, but hopefully not too long!  
> Come talk to me on Tumblr @foodandfandoms


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